What Blooms In Winter
by ikvros
Summary: Iris unguicularis. Jasminum nudiflorum. Helleborus orientalis. The heart.


_**Iris unguicularis**_ **, commonly known as the Algerian iris, is a rhizomatous flowering plant in the genus** _ **Iris**_ **. It grows to 30 centimetres, with grassy evergreen leaves, producing pale lilac or purple flowers with a central band of yellow on the falls. The flowers appear in winter and early spring.**

The beginning always reminds her of a waxing afternoon. Like the start of summer, when the sunshine fills the places the spring couldn't reach; filters down through the trees to the water where it glimmers. Even the ripples on the ponds move slowly, when the wind can't be bothered and it smells like bluestem and dry heat. Those days are the best for reading outside, she thinks, because the pages sit still. You get a little warm, but it's not an uncomfortable feeling - it's almost like the world's wrapping its arms around you.

Maybe it's because the first time it happened was in the afternoon, and she could taste it on his skin. Or maybe it was the way the light fell around them in fractures through the textured window as the sun tipped over to the west, hours before it tinted everything golden. Few memories keep as vividly as that one, and in so many of her senses; the blurring greenery in her peripherals as they rode on horseback, the wind whipping past her ears, where he'd later whisper, and oh... _oh,_ yes, that was it. The delicious friction of his fingers across the bare skin of her back, sticky where she'd been pressed against him on the way over. That was the first place he'd ever touched her underneath her clothes, as he'd come up from behind her.

Thinking about it now still makes the heat pool, long after discovering that there are much lovelier places to be touched.

Today, it's not the afternoon, and it's certainly not the summer. Dawn breaks over the horizon, and it's a glowing, saturated magenta that she wants to drink in, but the wind bites too sharply for her to keep her eyes open for more than a couple of seconds at a time. Zen suggested that she ride behind him today for this exact reason, but she argued that riding in front was warmer — which it is. His heat envelops her fully this way, emanating through his coats, seeping through hers, all the way down to the skin. It's an impossible warmth, evident even without the sharp contrast of the weather. In touch and presence, it radiates. _Like the sun._ No, that's not quite accurate. She thinks better of it, thinks of his lips against her shoulder, smooth as her thumb across a turning page, and the way being held by him feels like a cold glass of water pressed up against a sunburn. _If a_ _summer afternoon were a human being, it would be him_. That's it. She leans back against him contentedly as they fly down the faintly trodden path, brown leaves crunching underhoof. Something that feels like a kiss presses through the hood on her head.

She supposes the others _have_ to know by now - there's no way they haven't been followed before. It's their job to know where he is, and even if it wasn't...well, there are few reasons she _and_ Zen would ever be missing from the castle grounds without informing anyone. Sneaking out is second nature to him, but their friends are wise to his ways (and hers, now, apparently). Mitsuhide and Kiki are _too_ nonchalant, and Obi teases Zen a little _too_ much for them not to know. Still, they've never said a word, never asked any questions. She wonders if it's the blessing they can't officially give.

She's thankful for the stolen hours they've been granted as the cottage comes into view, the far wall dripping orange light. It's been a while since they've had the chance to come here together. Too long, she thinks, as Zen helps her off the horse. His hands on her waist send her stomach somersaulting, and she nearly whimpers when they fall away.

Oh, she has it bad.

When she looks up at him, she wonders how he's real. All flawless alabaster tinged pink, eyes sparkling like a starry night even as the sky behind him brightens. She's seen the cobalt of his irises darken enough times to know when he has it bad, too. She noticed it before the words had even left his mouth in her doorway in the dead of night, felt herself answering before he could ask. _Let's go. I've missed you so much._ She can't feel the cold now, but she shivers.

Zen smiles at her. His gaze is hungry.

"I'll put her away. You should get inside and warm up."

She has half a mind to tell him the only way _that'll_ happen is when he peels her clothes off and warms her up himself. Instead, she smiles back.

"I'll start the fireplace."

The cottage is small but entirely charming, a nearly open room comprised of a stove, a table and chairs, a bed, and a rug. Beyond a narrow hallway there's a bath that they've only used in the warmer seasons. The fire makes quick work of the standing chill, and after fifteen minutes, save for a layer of dust, you can hardly tell it's been vacant for months.

It's been _months_.

She's used to it now, the waiting. It's not that she doesn't notice it, or that it's not difficult, it's just - it's how things have always been between them. He's a prince, and she's a pharmacist, and a lot of the time they get to see each other, but sometimes they don't. Sometimes their positions call them far away, for long periods of time, and that's okay - except for when it's not. A quiet sadness stirs in the pit of her stomach, and she wills it away as she grabs an armful of blankets from the closet. Zen made a promise to her long ago, one they're both worked hard to make good on. It's just a matter of time now, a final stretch, as the last pieces fall into place. She's used to the waiting, she's been at it for years.

Besides, in this place, it ceases to exist.

When the front door creaks open, she's already down to her underwear.

"Shira...yuki…"

There's something so intensely satisfying about the look on his face. There's surprise there, definitely - for one thing, it's still _freezing,_ even with blazing fire she's made a nest in front of. And while it's not unlike her to be forward about things, she doesn't even feel her cheeks redden as she watches him exert the effort to keep his eyes intently on hers. Warmth instead pools elsewhere, and she feels the inside of her lip pull between her teeth. Such a gentleman, always.

But she wants him to look, wants to feel his eyes trace her, so she brings one hand between her breasts, hoping his eyes will follow the movement as her fingers trail softly down her sternum.

They do.

"I couldn't wait," she admits, but he's already closing the door and striding across the room, his coats hitting the floor behind him.

 **-.-.-**

 _ **Jasminum nudiflorum**_ **, commonly called winter jasmine, is a trailing, viny shrub that grows from a central crown. Willowy green stems are attractive in winter. Non-fragrant, bright yellow flowers bloom along the stems in late winter before the leaves.**

"Please, just... _please_." She's _mewling,_ her voice an alien whine in her ears, a sound she didn't know she could make. It can't be helped; his fingers are slick against her wetness, but he keeps teasing her, circling her clit and then purposefully dipping lower. It's driving her absolutely insane. She bucks her hips up, following the pressure of his fore and middle finger, but much to her dismay, it disappears.

His voice is honey in her ear.

"Tell me what you want."

"You know," she accuses, her eyes fluttering shut as he trails his tongue along the curve of her breast.

"Mmm," he agrees, just as his mouth closes over her nipple, the vibration sparking light behind her eyelids. She arches, her back leaving the blankets beneath them, but his hand is quick at her ribcage, pressing her down again. So alluringly maddening, this Zen. She's in no mood to take it slow, but he seems hellbent on making her _weep_ before he'll give into her. He's never been this bold before, but then, neither has she. Something is different about this visit; something lingers in the air here akin to the howling bluster outside. It's a voracious wild, clawing beneath the confines of her skin. Far from still, far from quiet, far from a lazy afternoon.

"I do know," he says, upon releasing her nipple, his lips still brushing her skin. "But I've never heard you say it."

Is that what it will take? Does he think that she can't, that she's too embarrassed? Maybe it is a little embarrassing, but for God's sake -

Her hands find his face, pulling so that he'll look up at her. Her cheeks bloom red, but her eyes don't waver, and neither does her voice.

"I want to come. I want you to make me come."

She's never seen a color burn the way blue does.

A protest bubbles up her throat when he pulls further away from her, but it's stifled when his hands push at her thighs and he lowers his mouth to the place she's wanted all along.

 _"Ohhh."_ Oh, indeed. She only expected his fingers, but his tongue is lapping against her clit in quick, gentle strokes, sending crackling pleasure up her spine. Her hands grip the blankets and her head falls back with an almost-painful thud. _The floor._ She nearly forgot that she opted for warmth over comfort, but the blanketed wood isn't bothersome. In fact, as Zen pulls her legs snug against his head, she finds the contrasting rigidity aiding in her desperate climb.

"Zen, I, I -" One of her hands fists in his hair, silk against her skin, and his tongue increases pressure and pace. Her hips move in time, grinding against his mouth, and she's staring at the ceiling but she can't see it, can't see anything except stars.

And then his fingers push into her, two of them, up to the knuckle.

She _clenches_ around them.

He must feel it, because he groans into her, his tongue faltering for just a second, the longest second of her life.

"Please, I-"

She doesn't have to beg this time. He gladly obliges, resuming, withdrawing his fingers before driving them in again. And again. And again. Not all the way, just enough, pressing against the wall that makes her buck, the spot that draws those short, shrill noises right out of her. No matter how long it's been, every time he touches her he remembers her body like a life-long skill, like riding, like wielding a sword, and -

" _Yes, yes, yes, yes..._ "

And she's _coming_ , pleasure spiraling all the way to her curling toes, gasping as her muscles clamp repeatedly around his unrelenting fingers, crying out as she falls apart. He never stops when she seizes, just flicks his tongue faster, harder, drawing out every last pang of her orgasm. Her hand is gripping his hair with what must be an uncomfortable tightness, but he only ceases when she releases him, falling limp against the blankets.

Her chest is heaving, and sweat beads along her hairline as she slowly descends back to the earth, finds her senses again. The fire's a little _too_ warm for her now, but she doesn't think she has the strength to move.

"Beautiful."

It's so quiet, she wonders if her ears are still ringing. But when she looks up at him - his disheveled hair, his glistening lips, his wandering, lidded eyes - she realizes he hadn't meant to say it out loud. She imagines she actually looks quite the mess, all sprawled out and red-faced, panting like she's sprinted a mile. But there's not a thing he could say that she wouldn't believe with the expression he's wearing, and when his fingers reach out to trace up the plain of her stomach, her vitality springs anew.

 **-.-.-**

 _ **Helleborus orientalis**_ **, commonly called Lenten rose or winter rose, is a clump-forming, late winter-blooming perennial. Features large, cup-shaped, rose-like, flowers, with center crowns of conspicuously contrasting yellow stamens.** **Stems and roots are poisonous to humans if ingested.**

She's going to die.

That's what it feels like, at least, as he drives in and out of her, his chest against hers, slick with their sweat, the fire burning and burning and burning.

Her fingernails dig into his back as he bites into her shoulder, and every breath she draws is hot, suffocating, not really oxygen at all. But she's so full, so completely full of him, and she thinks, no - she _knows_ \- this is the closest they'll ever get to being one. She moans helplessly beneath him, tears prickling at her eyes. Has it ever been this intense? She can't tell if she's suffering or overdosing on thrill. She might black out.

But his movements slow, and then they stop, and the noise she makes as he withdraws from her is alarming, even to her own ears. She watches, dazed, as he leans back on his haunches, pushing his wet hair from his face with one hand before offering her the other one. His voice is breathless.

"To hell with this fire."

Let it be damned, then.

He pulls her to her feet, and she wobbles, but his hand's at the ready to steady her. Concern flashes in his eyes when she meets them, but she smiles, supporting herself on his arm.

"I'm alright," she says, "don't even think about carrying me."

"Shirayuki, if you need to rest -"

"I've rested enough. Too much." Her voice cracks, and she's -

Oh. She's _crying_. Zen's eyes widen in astonishment, and he leads her from the fire quickly. The cold air is hugely relieving, so pleasant against her overheated skin. It makes the tears stream down faster, and she blinks desperately, willing them away. Why? This ruins everything she wanted this time to be for them - why now, why here?

He leads her to the bed, letting her sit on the edge of it before kneeling in front of her. He gives her space, but keeps her hand. For the first time today, she doesn't meet his eyes.

His voice is soft, but his words are pained, laced with worry. "If I did something, Shirayuki, please tell me what it is." No, no, that's not it. But her voice won't work. "I'm so sorry for not noticing that the fire was too much. Let me get you some water, okay? I'll be just a minute -"

Her heart picks up speed, her hand tightening around his as he starts to pull away from her.

"No, please stay." She sounds broken. She hates it. She can't look at him.

"You're flushed and dehydrated. Let me -"

" _Please_." It's a far cry from her earlier plead, but just as desperate. "Don't leave."

She feels his hand on her face, and her lip trembles.

"Look at me." It's gentle, but it's also stern. She knows that voice; he uses it rarely, but it's distinct. She's _worrying_ him, and it's not fair. She's not a child. She looks at him, her eyes watery but subdued. His thumb strokes her cheek, brushing through the wetness. "What on earth is the matter?"

 _Use your words._

"It hurts to miss you." They're selfish, burdensome words. "After all this time, I thought it might get easier. I know it's wrong to think that you belong to me, because you're a prince, and your duty will _always_ be to Clarines first. But I just…" Her brow furrows. "These past few months have been so hard. It doesn't get easier to be away from you, it just gets more difficult." She's not even allowed to feel these things, much less say them out loud. But they keep pouring out. "I'll keep waiting for as long as it takes, because what we have is worth it. You are worth it. But my heart, Zen - it aches."

He stares at her for several long moments, so many emotions flickering in his eyes - too many for to accurately identify, though she tries desperately. She holds her breath, her stomach flipping. Was she too honest?

"I want to tell you something," he says at last. "But I'm getting you some water first."

She's in no position to argue.

He makes her take three big, long drinks from the cup. He _insists_ , even counting them out loud, and it nearly makes her laugh because water is exactly what she needed. It's from the well, cold and clean, and it takes her body temperature down almost immediately. How is she so rotten at taking care of herself, when her very livelihood is healing others?.

"Thank you." He nods before leaning back in the chair he's pulled up across from her, eyes drifting past her as they grow thoughtful. She doesn't know what else to do except wait, and her hands clasp together beneath the sheets she's pulled around herself, nails digging anxious crescents into her skin.

"You were honest with me," he says at last, his eyes flicking to meet hers. "You always are, but not like that."

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, her heart sinking. "It was unfair of me to say to you."

"No." His head shakes once. "Your feelings are your feelings. Don't ever apologize to me for sharing them - it is a relief to know that they run so deeply." Her pulse ticks up. "Missing you hurts, too. More than you know, Shirayuki. Every time I leave your side, another piece of my heart stays with you. I am a prince, and my duty is to this kingdom - but before that and despite it, I _do_ belong to you. I always have. From the day I met you, I knew I'd follow you anywhere."

Tears spring to her eyes again as she thinks of all of the moments that very sentiment rang true. Maybe it's because it still surprises her - his devotion, his passion, and the resolve in his voice when he speaks of it. She's never known the kind of love she sees in his eyes, never thought that anything like it could exist, that it could be so delicately soft and at once immovable, that she'd be able to see her own unwavering reflection in it - clear as a star-filled sky, the one they've spent countless nights looking at from different windows.

"I knew long ago that I wanted to marry you. Before we discussed it, before it ever became plausible. I told my brother ages ago that that was my intention - that's probably why he made things so difficult for us. He tested our love for each other over and over again."

It grew stronger, each and every time.

She's speechless, and her heart...it's soaring.

"But we never gave up. And...there's a reason I wanted to come here with you today, aside from, well," his gaze shifts toward their abandoned blanket pile near the fire, "but you were _naked_ , and I thought it could wait, but I should have just told you first - I wanted to tell you first, but -"

Her heart stalls.

"Tell me what?"

He looks back at her, his eyes sparkling again, a smile she's never seen before growing on his lips.

"This information hasn't been released to the public yet, but I wanted to see the look on your face when you hear it for the first time. My brother and his fiancee - they've set a date for the wedding."

She starts.

" _Izana_? Haki?" He nods eagerly in response.

"Yes. Early spring - the thirty-first of March." That's only _two months away_. He doesn't have to tell her _why_ it's significant, but she wants to hear the words come out of his mouth, so she clamps her own shut. "Once they're married, Shirayuki, we're free to...well, I...I can... propose."

Sunlight filters into the room, and before she knows it's happening, she's launching from her seat, straight into his arms.

 **-.-.-**

 _ **Galanthus nivalis**_ **, commonly called snowdrop, is a bulbous perennial that is native to Europe and southwestern Asia.** **The common name refers to the supposed resemblance of the flowers to drops of snow.** **It is a true harbinger of spring, often poking its head up through snow cover if present.**

"We really should be heading back soon," Zen murmurs. They're both wrapped up in the sheets, spent and bleary-eyed. She hums her agreement. "If it snows, we'll be trapped here until it stops." A pause. "On second thought…"

Her stomach grumbles. _Audibly_.

She feels laughter rumble in his chest, warm right against her ear.

"We can pack a lunch next time," she says quietly, a smile on her lips. "We've taken our time today as it is. Do you think you'll be in trouble?"

She feels him shrug beneath her. "I had the chance to tell everyone about my brother's impending wedding two days ago, when I first returned from Wilant. I think they were probably expecting this." That turns her red, her suspicions confirmed.

But then she thinks about two months from now, when the air will start to warm and spring flowers will bloom, bright and new. She wonders if they'll look different to her, if they'll be more vivid, and -

"Oh!"

She sits up, her head whipping toward her fallen coats and bag.

"What is it?"

"Do you think we have a little bit of time to look around outside? Just around the cottage? I just remembered - I brought a book with me, an encyclopedia of winter flowers."

"Flowers?" His expression grows curious as she looks back at him. "Flowers bloom in this cold?"

She smiles brightly, excitement welling in her stomach. "All kinds! They're not as bold as springtime flowers, but they're just as beautiful. More so, if you consider that they've had to adapt to the climate and evolve in order to produce blossoms. In fact, I have one in particular I'm looking for."

His eyes are tender as he sits up, full of love, full of winter light, full of forever.

"Of course we have time. Let's get dressed."

* * *

this one-shot is a re-post; i wasn't entirely happy with the way i left it when i initially published it, so i went back to edit a bit. if you enjoyed it, please take a moment to favorite or leave me a review! i want these tiny lil zenyuki fic archives to expand and grow, and as a writer and a reader i know that even the smallest bit of positive feedback can inspire and motivate. thank you so much for reading, and i'll see you next time!


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